Hunting Season
by Negolith
Summary: On their way back from a camping trip, John and Rodney have an accident and get stranded in a picturesque little town in the BC Rockies that isn't quite what it seems. They have to survive until dawn, but the question is, who will kill them first - the townspeople or their new allies?


**Hunting Season**

Rodney paused and watched John break down the tent that had been their home for the last five days and let out a rather bearish snort. Even with his doctorate in engineering, augmented with a slide rule and a surveyor's transit, he could _never_ get the damn things to roll up and fit back into their cases like they were supposed to. So he returned to loading their rented Xterra while John tackled the nylon monstrosity from hell.

And he just could not believe he _willingly_ went camping for almost a week. Yup, him, the pasty lab denizen who made his own one hundred SPF sunscreen and broke out in hives at the mere thought of the great outdoors…. But then, he was still having trouble believing he was a werebear now, for crap's sake, and had just survived his third successful transformation. While camping in the woods, without hot showers, or a cafeteria, or multiple computer access, or even a, a _toilet_….

Yeah, the last few months had been strange, but this … _this_ topped the cake.

When Rodney turned around to grab the camp stove he saw John watching him and smirking. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. You just, ah, keep snorting and shaking your head is all. Everything okay over there? You're not having some kind of allergic reaction to all the fresh air, are you? Do I need to break out the Benadryl? Call for a medi-vac?"

"Everything is just hunky dory," Rodney snapped back. "Now, could you please get a move on? I hear a real shower, with _hot_ water, and a mocha quad espresso super grande whatever, somewhere, calling my name. Frantically." He cocked his head and put a hand to his ear. "And there it goes, again. So…." He waggled fingers impatiently towards John. "Chop chop." He turned and shoved the camp stove into the little space he had created for it – he knew all those years of playing Tetris would come in handy for something – then ran the cargo netting across the stuff and fastened it down. Nobody could pack like he could. Except for tents, that is, and that was why he preferred hotel camping, thank you very much. When he turned back to start grabbing the soft stuff to pack on top he saw John still grinning at him. "Now what?"

"C'mon, admit it," John drawled as he broke down a carbon-shaft tent pole. "You had fun."

"Out in the middle of nowhere, away from computers and cell phones? Smelling you for five days, and drinking your god awful camp coffee? Puh-leeze." But as he started loading the sleeping bags a crooked grin slowly split his face, and pretty soon he was nodding his head like a total spaz. "Okay, okay, I admit it, but only because absolutely no one except you can hear this…. Yes, I did have fun."

"Ha! I knew it!" John grabbed the next long pole.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get all cocky." Rodney suddenly froze, his grin slipping and eyes going wide. "Um, you're not going to tell anyone I ate ants, are you?" He hadn't been able to stop himself when he came across the old stump full of carpenter ants while in full bear form – something in his brain went _ooo yum_ and he tore into the thing like a, well, bear possessed. It was, was _freaky_.

John chuffed. "Oh, yeah, right – like anyone would believe Mister If-it-ain't-deep-fried-and-smothered-in-ketchup-I'm-not-touching-it ate _bugs_." As he slid the poles into their bag, his own grin went smug. "So, your secret's safe with me."

"Good. And I promise I won't tell anyone you ate Thumper." Yeah, that had freaked him the hell out – one second they were ambling back to camp, the full moon still high, and the next John was flying through the air. Launched a good thirty feet, too, and came up with a rabbit. In. His. Teeth. He shuddered at the memory of how absolutely _wild_ his friend's eyes looked right then. There wasn't anything remotely human he could recognize in them, and his inner Yogi cowered.

"Hey, you ate some of Thumper, too."

"Only after it was _cooked_. And with ketchup. Lots of ketchup."

"There ya go," John said as if confirming the revelation to some unseen audience. He turned and started smoothing out the tent now that all the air had oozed out. "Now, get over here and help with this, Baloo."

"All right, all right. Don't get your shorts in a twist, Baggy."

Twenty minutes later they were bouncing down a narrow road that was more of a glorified goat trail than anything meant for vehicular travel. It followed a small clear stream that had been their very cold bathtub during their stay. Carson was the one who told them about the place – one of his favorite camping/fishing spots, as a matter of fact. It sat far enough from civilization for peace and quiet, but still close enough that if they really needed a beer and a cheeseburger it didn't take hours to find them. Rodney rolled down his window and stuck his head out. "Oh, man – dogs so have the right idea," he said after a deep breath. His newly enhanced sense of smell was a royal pain in the ass most days, but right now he was in olfactory heaven. The pine, the earth, the clean air – he never knew the great outdoors could smell so, well, _great_.

John glanced at Rodney, then rolled his window down. He leaned his arm on the open frame and stuck his head out as well. "Yeah," he drawled , enjoying the wind in his face as he drove.

"Hey! Watch the road!"

John flipped Rodney off and smirked.

They only closed the windows once they got to the highway and picked up speed. Now that they were out of the trees Rodney kicked back and pulled his sunglasses out of the glove box. John slid his own aviator shades on, but every once in awhile he'd glance sideways at Rodney. "What?" Rodney blurted out after the third time it happened.

"Oh, nothing. Was just sitting here wondering if the ant's legs stuck between your teeth. Never eaten bugs myself."

Rodney flipped him off, then leaned forward and turned the vent to internal air. The road was freshly chip sealed, and the smell of the tar was giving him a headache. He flopped back. "They did crunch," he added rather thoughtfully a few minutes later. "Kind of like tiny Rice Krispies, actually. Had a bit of a nutty flavor, too, reminded me of almonds."

John let out a bark of laughter that was closer to a cough. "TMI, McKay, TMI."

"Hey, you asked."

"I know, and now I'm really sorry I did." John flicked on the CD player and Creedence filled the SUV. They drove on in relaxed, companionable silence, their heads bobbing occasionally to the beat and the flash of shadows and sunlight from the tall trees lining the highway creating a strobe affect that seemed to match the rhythm of the classic rock.

Three songs later they came across a large sign announcing they were about to enter Briscoe, the Friendliest Little Town In BC, population nineteen hundred and change. As they passed the grounds to a huge lumber mill and into the town itself a banner telling them not to forget Logger Days in August stretched across the main drag, which in itself was all of maybe a half a mile long and lined with false-fronted buildings easily a century old. Then John was slowing the SUV down for someone crossing the street. She was in a tank top and Daisy Dukes, had a mass of loose curly brown hair, and when she crossed right in front of them she flashed them a smile over the top of the grocery bag she was carrying as she clearly checked them out.

John and Rodney watched her until she was up on the opposite sidewalk, and only then did John start the rig moving again. "Friendly locals," he said with a grin.

"Might have to come back for Logger Days," Rodney added as he leaned forward and turned down the music. "What in the hell are … is Logger Days, anyway?"

John shrugged. "Well, if they're like Libby's, there's probably a parade, a barbeque, logging demos, music, and beer. Kind of fun, actually." He suddenly pulled into a slanted parking slot in front of a café and shut off the engine. "I don't know about you, pal, but I could really go for a big greasy double bacon cheeseburger and a shake right now."

"Oooo. And onion rings," Rodney said wistfully. "I hope they have onion rings."

John opened his door. "Hey, I bet if you're nice to the waitress she'll throw a handful of ants on your burger for you."

"Asshole," Rodney muttered as he got out. While he was still hidden by the open door he pulled a tube of mentholated lip balm out of his pocket and daubed a little under his nose. He was still getting used to smells, and going into new places where lots of unfamiliar people might be was always a trial. He didn't have too many problems on Atlantis – he was used to all those smells now, even the obnoxious ones that wafted off of Zelenka whenever he got into one of his bizarre food cravings – but strange places were a whole new ball game. And it had been pointed out several times by Sheppard that he tended to make horrendous faces whenever he'd encounter something particularly strong. Of course he only brought this up _after_ the third or fourth time he got weird looks from people and they were shying away from him like he was some crazy man in their midst.

He slammed the door and took in a big, deep breath – even over the minty menthol of the lip balm he could still catch a whiff of road tar, fresh cut lumber and pitch from the mill, hot engine, and fried food. His stomach let out a loud gurgle at the latter, and he saw one of John's eyebrows rise over his dark shades as they came around the front of the rig. "Hey, breakfast was …."

"Three hours ago. I know, I know, hypoglycemic. Let's get you fed before you start gnawing on an arm." He made a reserved _after you_ gesture, as if he thought his arm might be the one in danger, and after a smarmy little grimace Rodney gladly led the way into the little café. The sleigh bells on the door rattled more than jingled as they stepped inside, and for a split second John paused. The air that rushed at him held the normal scents of any small diner he'd ever set foot in – bacon, hot grease, bread, coffee, bleach – but underneath he caught a hint of something else. It was musky, sharp – _primal_ – and made a ripple of fur run along his spine. He set his features as he followed Rodney to a booth by the windows. There were eight other people in the place, and most of them watched the strangers enter. And of the eight, John saw the nostrils on five of them flare briefly and their eyes widen. He gave them a brief acknowledgement that was an upward flick of his head and a faint smile, then plopped down in the corner booth with his back to the wall. Rodney seemed completely unaware as he picked up one of the laminated menus sitting upright between the ketchup and the napkin holder.

Rodney flipped open his menu. "Yes! They have onion rings!" he said triumphantly.

John took off his sunglasses, hung them on the collar of his t-shirt, and grabbed a menu just as the waitress appeared. "Can I get you boys something to drink?" she asked as she sat some silverware rolled up in napkins on the table. She was older, heavy set, and looked part Native. And she smelled completely human.

"Do you have milkshakes?" he asked, then saw on the menu that indeed, they did. "I'll take a chocolate one."

"You want whipped cream on that?"

He grinned and she giggled. "Sure!"

"Figures," Rodney mumbled. "Coffee for me, black." She nodded and disappeared. Only then did Rodney notice how tense John was. Or, more precisely, his inner Yogi did. The bear spirit had been fairly subdued ever since the third night of his first change, but it still piped in now and then with essential information and observations he normally did not catch. He glanced around and noticed a few sets of eyes watching them. Didn't surprise him actually – small town, strangers, stink eye. He'd witnessed it before. But there was something else that was making the hair on the back of his neck, well, _prickle_…. He lifted the menu to act as a mini-blind between him and the rest of the room. "What?" he barely whispered.

"Let's just eat our lunch and hit the road," John replied softly, his attention never leaving his own menu.

Rodney refrained from glancing around again. He didn't argue with his friend since his inner bear seemed to be emphatically agreeing. And, sometimes, he found it did pipe in with suggestions he actually found worthwhile, especially when it involved some of the weirder vargyr crap. "Okay. I'll go with that, for now." The waitress returned with the coffee and a couple glasses of water a moment later, and at least she acted friendly towards them. She left and Rodney took a sip of the steaming drink. And sighed contentedly. "Now that's coffee."

"Hey, there was nothing wrong with my coffee."

Rodney waved a hand through the air. "Please, that crap could eat through a nuclear containment shield."

"I didn't see you turning your nose up at it. Drank the whole pot this morning, if I remember right."

Rodney snorted. "Live in Russia for a few years and you can drink anything." The waitress returned with John's shake and for a second Rodney wished he'd ordered one. She took their orders and left them again. Rodney leaned back, one arm draped across the back of the booth, and watched John swipe a large portion of the mound of whipped cream off the top with a spoon and stuff it in his mouth.

"You're drooling there, pal," John said through a mouthful of cream which made him look a tad bit on the rabid side. Rodney actually swiped at his chin, then glowered at John. He started to reach out to snag some of the whipped cream, but John pulled the old fashioned glass closer and possessively wrapped an arm around it. "Mine," he growled, then lifted his lip briefly to bare a fang in an Elvis sneer.

Rodney snatched his hand back, then snickered and made do with his own coffee. He looked out the window, past their rented rig and several pick-up trucks, and could see the edge of a little motel down the street. It's front actually faced a side street, and the faded sign said something like Lazy Pines Inn. The only vehicle in its lot was an older model Subaru station wagon with mismatched doors, and the view of that was briefly blocked by a fully loaded logging truck roaring by at a little bit faster than the posted speed limit. Yeah, not much going on in Briscoe right now as far as he could tell. He looked back at John and wondered what had put him on edge, so he leaned forward and rested one arm on the table. "You're freaking me out," he sing-songed quietly as he lifted his mug to his lips.

John stirred the remaining whipped cream into his shake, and under the sound of the spoon lightly striking the side of the glass he barely whispered, "Smell."

Rodney blinked – his hearing had grown incredibly sensitive now that he was a werebear. He took a chance and wiped the balm away with his napkin. He waited a moment for that lingering odor to clear before he started taking a few tentative sniffs. His eyes got huge and he started to turn his head.

"Don't look," John hissed under his breath. "Just stay calm. We mind our business, we'll be fine." From where he was sitting he could see the rest of the diners by just sliding his eyes to the side. Only one person was openly watching them – a big bearded guy in a t-shirt and a trucker hat sitting at the counter, and the outright hostility he could feel radiating off of him was making fur ripple occasionally down his spine – and the rest were seemingly busy with their own meals and conversations. There were five other vargyrs in the room besides him and Rodney, and he did not like it one bit.

"This part of the Rockies is still neutral territory, right?" Rodney whispered. He was still learning all the vargyr clan stuff, or as he called it, the butt-sniffing, chest beating, peeing-on-trees crap.

"Yup." John took the spoon out and licked it. "I just smell mainly Lupis right now, but I caught Ursus when we first came in, and it wasn't you." He was keeping his voice soft so it wouldn't carry much farther past the booth to sensitive vargyr ears. Even with the muted voices of other diners, the normal kitchen noise, and the piped in country music making the place fairly noisy, he still didn't want the chance of being overheard. Not that everyone in the room with a sensitive nose already _knew_ what he and Rodney were….

Rodney blinked. "Aren't they, like, rivals?" He still kept his voice down.

"All clans are rivals, Rodney. And that's what makes me worried with this … bunch." He shrugged. "We'll just eat and leave."

The big guy at the counter paid his bill and left a moment later. He passed in front of the window and gave the two strangers a less than welcoming once over before climbing into a huge Dodge truck. John ignored him, but Rodney watched the guy back out and gun the engine. Then the mouthwatering smell of his own cheeseburger distracted him as the waitress sat it down in front of him. He didn't even bother with ketchup – he just slapped the thing together and dug in. He actually groaned as he chewed away happily on his first bite. "Oh, man – I can feel my arteries clogging already," he said around a mouthful.

John nodded enthusiastically and had to grab a spare napkin to catch juice running down his chin. "I haven't had a burger this good since, since the Knotty Pine Café."

"Is that in Montana?" Rodney asked before he shoved an entire onion ring into his mouth.

"Yeah. Little bar on Highway 2 near West Glacier. Burgers I swear the size of this plate."

They ate in relative silence until the burgers were gone, and while they picked at their remaining sides Rodney suddenly asked, "You liked it there, didn't you?" Then his eyes widened a fraction as he realized he'd asked a personal question, and this was John Sheppard he was talking to – the man was so tight lipped about his past you'd think he was in Witness Protection.

John shrugged casually with one shoulder and Rodney relaxed, and the little smile on his face was actually wistful. "Yeah, I did. Good people there." He dragged a fry through a puddle of cheese and grease on his plate. "But I like where I am now, too. Good people there, also."

Rodney ducked his head. "There are, aren't there?" he muttered. He didn't think he could have retained his sanity, let alone survived his Change without the support he had. And still had. It boggled even his exceptional mind that he had actual _friends_ now. And since the guy was being, well, open, he blurted out before he could change his mind, "So, are you and, ah, Espinoza still, you know…?" He wobbled his head in his nod/shake that always showed up when he was embarrassed.

"We are." John felt his ears get a little warm as a wave of guilt washed over him. "We're taking things a little slower right now." He couldn't help flashing back to their first night together, and what he did to her neck when he lost control. It was so bad in the morning he took her to the infirmary and shortly thereafter found himself in Carson's office getting the ass chewing of his life. John took it, too – he wasn't human and he had to be careful. He understood it completely, and the evidence of his dual nature had caused someone he cared about an awful lot of pain. "We both decided it was the best thing right now."

"Good. Good." Rodney killed his last onion ring. "Glad to hear things are still okay." He had come down pretty hard on John, too, for hurting one of _his_ scientists, then spent an entire day freaking because his inner Yogi was certain he'd overstepped his bounds in that whole annoying and illogical vargyr alpha thing and expected retaliation of some kind. He did get a rather hard smack upside the back of his head at dinner, but that was all, and he, well _Yogi_ was twitchy for a week waiting for the other boot to drop. His human part considered the matter closed. "Because, well, she's a catch. Gorgeous, smart … smart."

John grinned. "Yeah, she is." Then he narrowed his eyes. "Say, are you coveting my girlfriend?"

Rodney started. "What? No, no, I'm not. Just saying…." He saw John barely containing himself. "Asshole," he grumbled.

John chuffed. "You know, I think that Doc Brown is harboring something for you."

"Katie?" Rodney said hopefully, then immediately went nonchalant. "Eh, she only has eyes for her plants. And those, those tiny flying WMD's she has working for her."

"I'm going to tell Eira you called her a WMD."

"Oh, God no! I don't want to be…." He glanced around, mindful of listening ears. "You know."

John chuckled. "Relax – she'll think it's a compliment."

Rodney thought about that for a moment. "Huh. She would, wouldn't she?" Then he had to chuckle, too. "She nailed Ronon again the other day, you know."

"Yeah, I know. Was there. Slipped and called her Tink, and _bam_. Thought he learned the first time." The waitress came with the check right then and left with their empty plates. John started to reach for his wallet but Rodney snatched the check away before he even got his ass cheek far enough off the bench so he could get a hand in his back pocket. He raised an eyebrow.

"Just go with it," Rodney snapped as he pulled money from his wallet.

"Okay," John drawled out. "The fresh air did something strange to you, and it's freaking _me_ out."

Rodney just sneered at him

A short time later they were backing away from the café, and they did see someone come to the window to watch them, a cell phone to their ear. "Now that's just creepy," Rodney muttered as John straightened the rig out and pulled away. "I know we're strangers and all, but c'mon – really? Is that necessary? We didn't, like, pee on the walls or anything. Just … creepy." He put his sunglasses back on and just kind of scrunched down in his seat.

"No arguing there," John said. He was hyper vigilant as they drove down the short main drag, and not quite near the edge of town, in front of a hardware slash car parts store, he spotted Trucker Hat chatting with a couple other men. Their conversation stopped and the three turned to watch them drive by. He ignored them, but he noticed Rodney crane his head around to watch them until the load in the back blocked his view. A minute later they passed the "leaving city limits, please come back" sign and John chuffed. "Doubt that," he said under his breath as he put more pressure on the gas pedal than was necessary and the heavily loaded rig surged forward. He glanced at the clock before looking back at the steadily rising needle on the speedometer. "Hey, I think we might be able to catch the last ferry out of…."

"Oh shit!" Rodney yelled. John's head snapped up and he saw the black bear running out onto the road right in front of them.

Sometimes vargyr reflexes were _too_ good.

"Shit!" John echoed as he swerved to the right. He was pretty sure he took hairs off the bear's ass just before he felt the front passenger tire leave the tarmac and hit the soft muddy shoulder. He tried to keep control of the wheel but the tire was caught, the back end slid sickeningly sideways, and he felt the heavy rig start to tilt….

-oOo-

Rodney wasn't sure how many times the SUV tumbled – he kept his arms wrapped around his head to protect it from any flying camping gear and his eyes squeezed shut. He was dimly aware of the side impact airbag deploying, and when things finally quit doing their best imitation of riding inside a cement mixer he found himself hanging upside down, the seatbelt digging into his shoulder and … elsewhere. The silence was deafening and his eyes shot open, but he still kept his head cradled in his arms. It was a testament to his packing abilities that there wasn't as much crap in the front with them, and it seemed it was mainly the softer stuff that was on top. The windshield was a mass of cracks and a sleeping bag sat between him and John. "Sheppard," he called out.

He didn't get a reply.

"Sheppard?" Rodney frantically started pushing at the sleeping bag until it was shoved out of the way. John was hanging limply from his own seatbelt, his head at an odd angle because the tent case was trying to fit between him and his head rest, his forehead pressed against the steering wheel. "John!"

"Huh!" John jerked awake and for a second a shadow passed across his face as he almost Changed in surprise. He growled and struggled and got the tent out of the way. "You all right, McKay?" he asked as he blinked and glanced around as if it was just registering that they were upside down. Then he cradled the back of his head and grimaced, and when he pulled his hand away there was some blood on it.

"I'm okay," Rodney grumbled and started tugging at his seatbelt. "'Bout to lose circulation in my…. Gyah! It's stuck."

"Just a second, Rodney." John started moving stuff out of the way with one hand while he braced the other against the ceiling to ease some of the pressure from his own seatbelt. Then Rodney got his undone and the next thing John knew there was an ass in his face. "Jesus, McKay! Watch it!" He got tagged in the ear by a hiking boot a second later. "Ow! Dammit!"

"Sorry!" Rodney squirmed and got turned right side up and only kicked John one more time. "Here, I can…." He started to reach for the release on John's seatbelt but got his hands batted away.

"I can manage," John growled. He went back to bracing himself, but this time with both hands. "While you're down there, how about you try kicking out the windshield?"

"I can't…." Rodney started to protest then remembered he was a lot stronger now and gave an experimental one foot kick. One corner popped free, so with a crooked grin he attacked it with gusto. Didn't take much to pop it out. He started to crawl out, feet first, and when he was halfway free he saw John release the catch to his seatbelt and just gracefully ooze out from behind the steering wheel. "Showoff," Rodney grumbled as he carefully finished backing out.

John crawled out a moment later, and for close to a minute he and Rodney just stood there and stared at the bits and pieces of the Xterra that were scattered for close to a hundred feet down the highway. There was no sign of the bear. "Damn bear," John grumbled as he rubbed his forehead – he could tell he was going to have a bruise and goose egg there from the steering wheel – and he could just imagine what the seat belt bites were going to look like in a few hours.

They were both distracted by the sound of a big engine and air brakes and turned to find a flatbed delivery truck coming to a halt on the other side of the road, its hazards flashing in the tall tree induced gloom. It wasn't Trucker Hat, but it could have been a cousin. He leaned out his window. "Hey, you guys all right?"

John raised his left arm and offered a grimace laced with both pain and embarrassment. "Yeah, we're fine. Just got bounced around."

"What happened?"

"A bear ran out in front of us," Rodney said. He was rubbing his right shoulder. "He swerved, ditch caught us…." He made a little rolling motion with his hand and shrugged. Then he turned and glanced back at the trail of pieces-parts and all he could think was _holy crap, were we lucky._ He turned back and glowered at John, then smacked him in the arm. Hard.

John went sideways for a couple steps, a hand rubbing the point of impact. "Hey! What the hell?"

"_That's_ for almost killing the greatest mind on this planet!" Rodney let out in one quick rush.

John blinked, chuffed, blinked again, then broke out in snickers. Rodney glared murderously at him for a moment, but then started snickering as well. They both let loose as survivor relief kicked in. "Yeah, wouldn't want to deprive the poor world of _that_, now, would I?" John choked out.

"Please wait until I've won the Nobel, at least," Rodney replied between giggles. "That's all I ask."

"You and your spork. Will it be black to match your tux?"

They both completely lost it and doubled over with laughter, and the trucker just shook his head as he picked up his radio to call in the accident. He climbed out of the cab a moment later, and he was grinning as he retrieved his hazard markers and a couple flares. By the time he got over to them Rodney was sitting on the ground and John had one hand braced against the overturned vehicle's front bumper. "Constable's on his way," the guy said.

"Thanks," John wheezed out as he wiped his eyes. He suddenly caught a whiff of corn chips and straightened up to find their good Samaritan _werebear_ pale faced and staring at him. That sobered John up instantly. "Can I, ah, help with that?" he asked and gestured to the flares and markers.

"Nope. I got it." The guy hustled off quicker than necessary before waiting for any kind of reply from John.

John immediately checked his pockets for his phone then remembered it was in the glove box. "McKay – you got your cell?"

Rodney nodded as he got his breathing under control and dug in a pocket. "Right … here." He flipped the top and made a surprised _huh_ over the fact that he did have a signal.

John was about to ask him to call Atlantis when he spotted the police, no, constable's four-by-four approaching, lights flashing but no siren. He pulled up behind the overturned Xterra and got out. He was a tall wiry fellow, dark, narrow featured, and when he gave them a nod and small smile, John couldn't help thinking he looked like a ferret.

Then the man's scent hit him, and he wasn't too far from the mark.

The constable was controlled – his expression didn't change but his step faltered briefly. Rodney shot to his feet rather gracefully, his eyes wide and darting to John, the question broadcasting clearly – _what is he?_ The constable gave Rodney a cursory once over, then focused on John. "You boys are lucky," he said, his voice surprisingly deep and with a hint of the slow cadence of a Native.

John had his wallet in his hand and was pulling out his driver's license. "Yeah. Bear ran out in front of us, missed him, not the ditch." He handed it over and concentrated on being as non-threatening and calm as possible to what his senses were telling him was a true born vargyr. Rodney came over and produced his ID as well.

His new proximity elicited a true double-take from the constable and for a second he slipped and sniffed in Rodney's direction. Then he shook his head and got himself back under control. He studied the two ID's. "Whose vehicle?"

"It's a rental," John supplied. "Papers are, uh, in the glove box. I can…."

"It can wait for the moment," the constable replied a bit too quickly. He twitched his head towards his rig. "Let's start the paperwork."

John nodded and he and Rodney followed the man over to his vehicle. He kept himself as subdued and neutral as possible and hoped Rodney's inner Yogi would pick up on that fact. And that Rodney would actually _listen_ to it for a change.

-oOo-

Nearly four hours later, after a crapload of paperwork and being checked over by an EMT who was human and a small volunteer fire crew where several weren't, John was carrying their cooler into room number seven at the Lazy Pines while Rodney was on the phone with Elizabeth. Now that the adrenaline from the accident was gone he ached everywhere and was looking forward to a long hot shower and just collapsing on the motel bed. He sat the cooler near the door, the rest of their gear already in neat little piles in the corners and any open space in the surprisingly large room, and pulled out a beer. It wasn't very cold, and he might have to go over to the little market down the street for ice and more beer later, but he really didn't care at the moment. He popped the tab and had half of it down before he turned to Rodney.

"We're _fine_, Elizabeth. Really," Rodney repeated for the fourth or fifth time. He noticed John had a beer and snapped his fingers. John just smirked and plopped down on the end of the bed closest to him. Rodney grimaced at him and stomped over to the cooler. "Okay, okay, we'll check in first thing in the morning. I promise. Bye." He sighed rather heavily as he snapped the phone shut and bent over to grab a beer – the last one. He just gingerly sat down on top of the cooler. "She's sending Ronon and Teyla out first light to come get us." He popped his own beer and took a long drink.

"Cool," John just sort of sighed out. He slowly laid back and rested his beer on his stomach.

"How are the beds?"

"Pretty damn nice." He rubbed his sore forehead then let his arm just flop down on the loud flower print bed spread. He was absolutely exhausted from trying to keep his vargyr nature completely contained and nonthreatening as possible as they dealt with Constable Martin and the emergency crew. He was of royal blood and other vargyrs could sense it as well, so trying to keep from acting alpha around others when every instinct screamed at him to show dominance …. Well, it was incredibly tiring. He hadn't had this much of a problem when he lived on his own – he had suppressed his true nature so heavily for so long that his body and senses were beginning to believe he really _was_ human. But ever since he first came to Atlantis and was forced to face that part of himself again, the old instincts were awakening. And he hated it. Around Rodney it wasn't so bad – he was first and foremost a friend, and even though Yogi still responded to the old cues, Rodney was the dominant one. Well, his _ego_ was, that was for damn sure. But in this place…. He was going to have to walk on eggshells.

Rodney got up with a groan and shuffled over to the other bed. "Oh, hey, they are nice," he said after he sank down on the edge. He took another drink. "So, what is he?"

John had his eyes shut and was actually starting to doze off. "Weasel."

Rodney almost choked. "Really? There are wereweasels?"

"Minor clan indicative to North America," John mumbled. "Know a guy in Whitefish who's a wolverine. Part of the same clan." He cracked an eye and chuffed at the expression on Rodney's face. "Really."

"Huh." Rodney's mouth settled into his crooked grimace as he digested that bit of new information.

The door was still propped open letting in fresh air, so John caught the scent before he heard the soft footsteps. He lifted his head just as a curly haired one peeked in around the edge of the door frame. He sat up abruptly because the scent was actually starting to wake him up. Well, _part_ of him anyway. "Hey!" John blurted out and focused on his aches and pains.

Rodney's head snapped toward the doorway. First his eyes just lit up and a slow crooked grin followed.

"Howdy, neighbors," the woman said with a grin and a little wave as she stepped fully into the door but didn't cross the threshold. She was still in the tank top and Daisy Dukes but was now barefoot. "Saw the police drop you off. You boys alright?"

She had a hint of a rasp in her voice that John found appealing, and man did she have nice legs, but the scent…. He ran a hand down his face. "Yeah, we're okay. Single vehicle rollover."

She made a sympathetic cringe. "Totaled?"

"Yup," John replied. He glanced at Rodney and noticed he looked pretty glazed over at the moment.

"Ouch," the woman said. "I'm stuck here with car trouble myself. Oxygen sensor went kaput – waiting for the parts store to get one shipped in." She took one step into the room and held out a hand. "Hi. I'm Larrin."

John stood and reached out to take her hand. "John." He indicated Rodney with a jerk of his chin. "The dazed one is Rodney."

"Hey," Rodney said rather, well, dazedly.

"Bumped his head," John added quietly.

Larrin laughed – it was a throaty, slightly husky thing that sent a ripple of fur down his thighs – and nodded in understanding. At that moment a man suddenly appeared in the doorway behind her. He was tall, easily as tall as Ronon, lanky but broad shouldered, and couldn't have been much older than twenty-five. And he didn't look very friendly. Larrin turned briefly when the shadow from the guy passed over her. "This is my little brother, Devin." There was a family resemblance, especially around the nose and line of his jaw, and though his slightly darker hair was close cropped it had a hint of curl, too.

Devin's eyes were incredibly dark and glittered like obsidian as he looked over his sister's head at John and Rodney. He stared at each one intently, then just jerked his chin upwards for a greeting and disappeared.

John was relieved – all he could get off the guy with his empathy was a sort of wild buzzing and no real emotion to speak of. That had all the hairs on his _inner_ jaguar standing on end.

Larrin shrugged. "He doesn't talk much." She looked John up and down and a faint sly smile touched her lips. "Well, you two look beat – I should let you get some rest. Maybe we can get together later, if you're up to it?" She put her hands in her back pockets and swiveled back and forth a few times. It emphasized how small her tank top really was.

John made a unintelligible sound before saying, "Maybe." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat.

Larrin laughed again and spun gracefully around on the balls of her feet, and before she left she glanced over her shoulder and waved at Rodney. "Bye, Rodney. Hope your head feels better."

"Um, bye," Rodney replied as if he were stoned.

John closed the door behind her, then turned around and leaned heavily against it. He ran a hand down his face again and wasn't surprised to find sweat in his week old beard.

"She smelled really good," Rodney practically sighed.

"No, she smelled like trouble," John growled. "A shitload of trouble," he added under his breath.

Rodney blinked a few times, and though he was looking at John, it was clear it took a moment for him to actually _see_ him. "Huh?"

"She's a Pretender, Rodney." He pulled back the curtain and glanced out the window briefly, and after he let it flop back into place he scrubbed at his face again. Hard. "She was pumping out pheromones like crazy." He killed his beer and dropped the empty in the garbage can by the television. "And was it just me, or did her brother seem bugfuck insane?"

"She had a brother?"

John growled, low and dangerous.

Rodney reacted as if he'd been slapped. Then he shook his head and scrubbed at his own face, and when he looked at John his eyes were wide and clearer. "Pheromones? Really? Is she a shifter, too?"

"No." John hadn't been able to get a lockdown on her true scent because of the pheromones messing with him, but now that they were dissipating, his brain was starting to function again. And it was the brother's scent that it was focusing on at the moment – hot, metallic, with just the tiniest hint of carrion…. "You need to stay away from her. Them."

Rodney blinked at the command in John's voice. Then he ignored Yogi, who was telling him to back off and drop it, and stiffening his own _human_ spine met his friend's glare. "Why?"

John put his hands on his hips and drew his lips in. He glared at Rodney and damn near said _because I said so,_ then forced himself to remember that Rodney was new to this world he had taken for granted since birth. He chuffed and ran a hand through his hair, then hissed when he hit the bump and crusted blood on the back of his head. "They're Travelers, Rodney. Bad news by any other name."

Up went one of Rodney's hands and motioned for more information.

John just slumped. "They're demon spawn."

Rodney's hand froze and his mouth dropped open. Then the hand was in motion again, and one finger came up. "Excuse me, did I hear you say 'demon'?" When John nodded his hand dropped down between his knees. "Of course you said 'demon'. Makes perfect sense. There's already elves and wereweasels and vampires and pixies with built in riot control. Huh. Why the hell not? Oh, crap," he muttered and a second later downed the rest of his beer.

"Yeah," John added. First a town filled with comingling mixed vargyrs, and now half-demons. "I think we need to stay low until Ronon and Teyla get here," he drawled out.

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Rodney replied and tossed his empty at the garbage. And missed. "After we get more beer. Because, seriously, this whole effed up day calls for more beer."

-oOo-

It was after midnight and John was still wide awake. Rodney was snoring away blissfully in the other bed and he seriously considered throwing a pillow at him. But it wasn't the noise that was keeping sleep at bay, it was this damn town, so he let his worn out friend sleep.

Earlier, after a shower and change of clothes, he'd wandered over to the little grocery store for something easy for dinner since their room had a microwave, and more beer. In the fifteen minutes he was in there he encountered a werebear woman buying diapers and an older man at the cash register who was a cat of some kind. Since their scents were still more animal than human, he knew they were cursed and not true born like the constable. He kept his eyes down, spoke only when spoken to, and when he left the store his head was pounding from the effort of keeping his own inner jaguar clamped down and as submissive as possible. He was wired and in a bad mood when he got back to the room, and Rodney wisely listened to his inner Yogi and kept his mouth shut. A couple beers and some food helped, but he was still so wound up from the encounter he suspected that despite being dead tired and feeling like both Ronon and Teyla had used him for a punching bag, he wouldn't actually sleep until he was on the road and heading back home.

John chuffed and threw back the covers. He pulled on his last clean pair of sweats and carefully slid on a t-shirt – he had a wonderful purple bandolier stripe of bruise across his chest and hips from the seatbelt that made lifting his arms interesting. Rodney had a mirror image of the same. Then he grabbed what remained of the last six-pack and unlocked the door. He glanced at Rodney, who hadn't stirred even when he rattled the contents of the cooler, before ducking outside. He made sure he flipped the little safety bar over so the door would remain cracked.

There were two dark green plastic patio chairs in front of each unit that flanked the boxy air conditioner which in turn served as an impromptu table. John pulled one beer free and sat the rest on top of the AC then sank down into one of the chairs. He stretched his long legs out and sighed – he couldn't sleep, but at least he could keep watch. He popped the beer and took a long pull.

The sky was clear, and with the moon just two days past full he could see everything clearly, enhanced vision or not. Since the motel faced a side street, across the way was just the side and back parking lot of a tiny Laundromat and espresso bar. To the right lay the main drag, and to the left the beginnings of the main residential section. The houses were older, but well kept, and fairly sheltered by old pine trees. The exterior lights of the little motel weren't on so he sat in relative anonymity in the deep pool of shadow formed by the extended porch's roof.

He noticed right away Briscoe didn't have any working streetlights beyond the main drag. Oh, the poles were there all right, but what lights he could see were shattered.

He sipped his beer and peered a little closer at the nearest houses. There were lights still on in several, and occasionally a shadow would pass in front of a window or obscure the blue flickering light from a television. "Buncha freakin' night owls around here," he mumbled.

"I know."

John jumped and whipped his head to the right. Fur rippled briefly down his arms and his fangs slid free. Larrin was sitting in a patio chair four units down. How he didn't sense, or _smell_ her, was beyond him. He could see her smiling very clearly, and for some reason that and not his own inattentiveness pissed him off.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" Larrin said. She rose gracefully from the chair, stood, and deliberately posed a moment in the small bit of moonlight that caught her. She wore an oversized plain t-shirt with a ripped out collar, and since the night was cool it was apparent she wore nothing underneath, plus a pair of very tight sweatpants. She glided towards John and worked it for all it's worth.

John scrubbed hard at his face. "Just, just, just back off with the pheromones," he growled.

Larrin stopped and stood hipshot – it made things bounce rather pleasantly – and pouted. "Oh." Then her eyes suddenly lit up. "Oh! Wait, no, don't tell me – are you and your monosyllabic bear buddy…." She raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Buddies? Because if you are, man, what a damn shame."

"No!" John heard Rodney's snoring stutter and pause, then continue. "No," he repeated much quieter.

Larrin grinned. "Pretty fast on the denial there, tall, dark, and fuzzy." Her tone was just as amused as her smirk. "So, then … you must be his alpha."

The way she said _alpha_ was just as laden with innuendo as _buddy_, and John actually growled. Not very loud, but he growled all the same. "We're friends and work for the same company," he replied, voice low and threatening.

Larrin held up her hands and waved them. "Okay, okay, I get the picture. Jesus, lighten up, fuzzy. Life's too short to be such a killjoy." She sauntered in front of him and sat down in the other chair. "So, I have to ask or else the curiosity is just going to drive me completely insane – how did you two become friends? I mean, really – you're obviously a high born, and he's cursed. Does not compute." She just helped herself to one of the beers.

John blinked at her – the after affects of the pheromones were still wreaking havoc with his higher thought processes, but he could tell she had backed off with them and now he just had to deal with what was apparently her normal, brassy obnoxiousness. "I'm an exile." He was actually pleased she drew back a bit in surprise at that. "And I'm teaching him how to be vargyr."

"Okay." Larrin sipped her beer and silently regarded him for a moment. "I bet _that's_ one helluva story."

John actually grinned at the way she said that. He chuffed. "Yeah. It is."

"So, gonna share?"

"No."

Larrin pouted again. "Please?"

John stared at her, his face set. He really didn't need to dredge up those memories right now.

"Man, you really need to lighten up, pull that four-by-four out of your ass." Larrin leaned back knowing full well what effect her posture and thin t-shirt produced and grinned at him as he fidgeted. "A cat, wait, an _exiled_ cat and a bear buddies. Who'da thunk it." She sipped some beer. "What House?"

John concentrated on his own beer and ignored her fishing for info.

"Oh, come on. You changelings exile members over stupid crap all the time – looking at the alpha's daughter wrong, slumming with the wrong low-born crowd, getting _caught_ with the alpha's daughter…." She gave him an appraising once over. "Oh, yeah, I could definitely see _that_ one happening," she purred out.

John clamped his lips down tight. _If only it was that simple_, he thought.

Larrin leaned forward and whispered conspiringly, "Your secret would be safe with me, fuzzy. Hell, who would even ask me? My kind are universally despised." She didn't seem very put off by that little revelation. "Think of me as a Pretender confessor." She put a hand to her chest and said as seriously as possible, "I am listening, my child."

_What the hell_. "Nahuel," John replied softly and belted back his beer.

"Holy shit."

John turned his head – Larrin was sitting frozen, her face impassive but her eyes wide. Apparently even Travelers knew his family. He chuffed, sat his empty on the carpeted concrete, and picked up another. He felt a tiny bit of smug satisfaction that he'd surprised her enough to shut her up and wipe the smirk off her face. John shrugged offhandedly. "Hey, you wanted to know."

Larrin settled back again and took a long drink. "Wow." She was quiet for almost a minute. "Boy, did _you_ pick the wrong place to have a wreck."

"Tell me about it."

Larrin blinked at John because the statement wasn't the usual offhand reply – it held a definite hint of command. "Huh. Well, fuzzy, we broke down two days ago – car had been stalling off and on since Medicine Hat, finally died by the lumber mill back that-a-way." She pointed back behind her with a thumb. "I knew I should have had that damn sensor replaced before we left," she muttered angrily. "Anyhow, pushed the car here, found out there was a parts store, got the thing ordered, ate dinner over at the creepy café, got a worse than normal vibe off of the locals and decided to stay in our rooms that night." She snorted. "Hell, even Devin was reluctant to go outside after moonrise. You should have heard this place, fuzzy – sounded like a damn zoo. They were even sniffing _at our_ _door_."

John rubbed his neck. This was so not good.

"Needless to say, we've been keeping a lower profile than normal. This is the first time it's been safe to be outside after dark. All the good little changelings are sleeping off their full moon hangovers." Larrin finished her own beer and just stared at the can. "I tell ya, I have _never_ sensed so many mixed cursed and true born in one spot."

John didn't doubt her – from what he knew about Travelers, they were very in tune with the true nature of the world, second only to the Sidhe in that respect. "The local constable is a true born." He pulled the plastic ring off the last beer and handed it to Larrin. She actually looked surprised, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the revelation about the cop, or the beer.

"Really, now. Haven't met him yet." She set the empty down and popped the new one. "What kind?"

"Weasel."

Larrin snickered.

John even chuffed. "I rolled our rig avoiding a bear. Makes me wonder now about the bear."

"Who knows, fuzzy. Who knows."

They sat in silence for a few minutes and just enjoyed the pleasant night. The incredibly _quiet_ night, now that he thought about it. He couldn't even hear a damn cricket. Fur rippled down his spine. "Quiet," he commented.

"Yeah. Was just thinking that same thing, and it isn't because of baby bro."

John frowned but a second later caught movement in the shadows across the street. Devin came out of the alley – he was dressed but barefoot – and trotted silently towards them. In the light of the moon John saw his eyes were glittering black pits completely devoid of any whites. More fur rippled across his skin.

Larrin sat up. "What's wrong?"

Devin stopped right in front of them, his face hidden in shadow. "Crowd gathering behind the bar," he said, his voice quite pleasant and showing more emotion than what John could sense from him. "Heard this place mentioned."

"Crap." John was debating waking Rodney up when the door to their room opened and the physicist blinked sleepily at everyone.

"Hey, what's up?" Rodney just cursorily nodded at Devin as he stepped out of the room, rubbed his eyes, then all of a sudden was staring at the tall man as if just registering his presence. He pointed at him and whispered to John out of the side of his mouth, "Brother?"

"Yes, McKay," John grated out.

"How's the head?" Larrin asked with a smirk. When Rodney just blinked at her she snickered. "Must have been one helluva bump."

Rodney visibly shook himself and glowered at Larrin. "Don't even think about using your, your pheromone powers … whatever on me. My brain is is is my own and very important to mankind, thank you very much. Absolutely, positively no messing with it, got that?"

John had to snicker at the slightly confused expression that flitted across Larrin's face when confronted with the full McKay, complete with his I'm With Genius t-shirt. "Looks like we may get some company," John supplied before Larrin could open her mouth. He looked up at Devin. "How many?"

"'Bout eight."

"Tall skinny guy with a ferret face with them?"

"Yup."

"The rest shifters?"

Devin nodded, once.

"Cursed?"

"Mostly."

"Wow, he and Ronon should be on a debate team together," Rodney said.

As much as John wanted to laugh at that he just gave Rodney a flat stare. Rodney just waggled his head and found his own bare feet interesting as he rocked back and forth a few times. John sat his beer on the AC and stood up. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm curious to see what they have to say." He crossed his arms and settled his stubborn-ass self in to wait. And he dropped all the barriers he'd constructed over the years to keep his true nature hidden – they were going to get the full Onca. Screw 'em. They want to play that card, he'll meet them head on.

Larrin straightened up in her chair and the slow smirk that lit her face was wicked indeed. "Damn, fuzzy," she purred. Devin rolled his eyes at her then skulked up onto the porch and crouched down in the shadows, balanced on the balls of his feet and tensed like he could spring forward at any moment.

Rodney just kind of blinked at John a few times before shaking his head and ducking back into the room. He came out a moment later with his boots on and an opened Powerbar in his hand. When John raised an eyebrow at him he shrugged and just kept chewing.

John smiled faintly – leave it to Rodney to distract himself with food. He could tell his friend was nervous, but something about the simple act of eating helped him focus his own core self. He had a feeling if he had his laptop, he'd probably have that booted up as well and furiously typing away on some problem up until the moment the shit hit the fan. And probably after, too.

They didn't have to wait long for the welcoming committee. A few minutes later four people emerged from the alley across the way – Ferret Face and Trucker Hat leading the contingent – and crossed the street calmly like they, well, owned the place. John glanced down the dark street quickly and did catch a couple large shadows dart across a street about a block away. He carefully drew his lips in since his fangs were now fully extended – he was not happy at all that they split up. When the four locals stopped not quite twenty feet away in the parking spot for his and Rodney's room he just greeted them with a quick lift of his chin. Trucker Hat just glared at him and from his scent John could finally tell he was a true born – bear – as well. The two people with them – a skinny harsh looking older woman and a tall bearded guy with slicked back hair and a runner's build – smelled like cursed wolves, and they flanked the two true born vargyrs. They were staring with open hatred at Larrin and Devin and out of the corner of his eye he saw Larrin stand up on his left and cross her arms. He hadn't known her long but he could well imagine the defiant little smirk that was more than likely plastered across her face.

Martin's eyes were narrowed as he studied John before he finally acknowledged him with a jerky little nod, too. He and Trucker Hat were in loose fitting clothing that could facilitate a change along with slip on shoes, and John was pretty sure his own clothing choice was noted as well. The tense silence as the two parties sized each other up lasted for nearly a minute before the off duty constable broke it. "State your intentions."

John heard Rodney's rather bearish snort of amusement and fought the urge to shush him. It was a reasonable question from someone who felt their territory was being threatened by a just now revealed high born. "Just passing through, here by accident. That hasn't changed." He kept his tone conversational.

Martin's eyes flicked towards Larrin. "You keep troubling company."

"I could say the same about you." John focused on Trucker Hat and the open hostility still radiating off of him. He decided the man must be Martin's lieutenant in this fucked up little possible rogue House set-up, and that made him really worried about what exactly was going on here in Briscoe.

Trucker Hat took offense at that, no surprise there, and took a step forward. Martin simply lifted his left hand and said softly, "Bill." Bill did stop but the snarl never left his face. "My company is decidedly more … controllable."

"Oh, please," Larrin interrupted and everyone's attention, except Martin's and John's, shifted to her. "Like we had a choice being stuck in this wide spot in the road. Soon as our part gets here, we're out of your hair." She glanced at John. "I didn't know sharing a beer with a fellow traveler down on their luck was a personal affront to your happy little domain here."

John could feel the tension rise. He briefly turned his head towards Larrin and silently willed her to shut up. She must have picked up something because she could only meet his eyes for a moment before ducking her head and backing up a fraction.

"And we'll be on our way as soon as our ride gets here," Rodney added.

When John turned his head to the right he saw his friend had his chin up and a crooked grimace of pure stubbornness on his face as he stared down Bill. The answering growl from the true born werebear didn't even phase Rodney. If anything, it brought out his own immovable nature more. _Oh, crap_, John thought. "McKay," he growled out softly. They ignored the whole hierarchy thing on Atlantis, but out in the Pretender world that attitude could get him killed.

Rodney crossed his arms but the obstinate grimace remained like he was facing down one of the suits with the Board and not a really pissed off true born vargyr. Pavle just had to go and tell him he was a god bear. His ego was bad enough already.

John uncrossed his arms and tried to appear more relaxed than he felt. "I have no intentions of challenging your dominance," he said sincerely. He spread his arms. "_We_ just want to be on our way." Martin's expression was unreadable as he considered his words, and the vargyr had his emotions well in control so he couldn't tell anything with his empathy. Bill and the two werewolves obviously didn't believe a word he said and seemed ready to attack at the slightest provocation. "I have absolutely no interest in what you have here." That wasn't quite the truth – he was curious as hell – but what he didn't know was probably for the best, and he couldn't afford to bring any attention to himself, not with his family. "It is _your_ territory."

"He's lying," the woman said, her youthful voice completely at odds with her barfly appearance. Her eyes were wild from what John suspected was a mix of what Larrin aptly called a full moon hangover and a good dose of whiskey – she was fifteen feet away and he could smell it. But she must not have been too far gone if Martin had her there with him.

"Nobles always do," Bill growled, a shadow flickering across his face, his corn chips and sawdust scent actually overpowering the whiskey for a moment. "He can't leave here, he'll report us."

_Report what?_ John thought as he felt things go from just merely tense to powder keg, and he could tell Martin felt it as well when the man's lips parted enough to show the tips of fangs. Behind him a barely audible rumble came from Rodney. _Oh, crap_. He lifted his hands slowly in supplication. "I really don't care what's going on here," he repeated. "I'm an exile, and I have no House…."

"Bullshit!"

Bill's exclamation was the spark. At least for Whiskey, anyhow. She snarled and launched, Larrin her apparent target. John stepped forward to intercept, but Martin moved inhumanly fast and caught the woman by what looked like her hair and pulled her up short so hard she nearly did a back flip. Her back hit the ground and her growl stopped when the air was knocked from her lungs. John caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and a quick glance revealed Devin next to him and in front of his sister.

The young man's skin had gone a dark metallic gray and moonlight shimmered across its surface as muscles rippled in a wave of barely controlled Change.

John only had time to blink in surprise before Bill shifted and went for Rodney. That did it. As he moved to intercept he flowed into his true form and caught the weregrizzly in a flying tackle. They hit the pavement and rolled, and John took full advantage of his military hand to hand combat training, which had come back after several months of sparring with both Ronon and Teyla to kill time, and had the other vargyr in a headlock in short order. The quiet night was filled with roars as Bill fought to break free.

"_Hold!_" Martin had Changed as well and still stood over Whiskey, one foot resting on her stomach. His body shape had changed very little, maybe gone a touch leaner, but his head was triangular and flat and he had the coloring of his apparent namesake, a pine marten.

The other cursed wolf was sprawled out on the ground at the base of the two short steps that led up to the motel porch with Devin casually sitting on his back, grinning smugly. He still had the metallic cast but his muscles no longer danced and squirmed under his skin.

In the sudden quiet Martin's order instilled, John heard claws scrabble overhead. He looked up and saw a true born werecougar crouched on the motel's roof ready to come down on his head, claws buried into the shingles for purchase and teeth bared in a silent snarl. Bill squirmed and John tightened his hold until the vargyr coughed and stilled again. Three more men appeared from behind the office end of the motel, and one had a rifle that he pointed at John. John glared at Martin, his whiskers flat and teeth bared, and slowly released Bill. Bill rolled away and coughed, tongue hanging from his muzzle, and got to his hands and knees. John lifted his hands, claws sheathed, and slowly backed up towards Rodney, who now stood with his back to the door of their room – they both knew there was a loaded forty-five in the bottom of John's backpack, which was within reach of the door. Larrin apparently hadn't moved at all. "I was being honest when I said we were just passing through," John growled. "Yet you attack and surround us. Where is _your_ honor?" He watched the constable react as if slapped – yeah, that always hit a true born where it hurts, especially if they're the alpha. "Do you _really_ want me to ask what's going on here?"

"Kill him," Bill grated out as he regained his feet and shuffled closer to the constable. "You can't trust his clan. Kill them all." Whiskey whined in agreement from the ground.

Martin bared small sharp teeth at Bill and hissed. The true born backed off but continued to bare his teeth at John. Martin's small dark eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. "You are an exile," he thought out loud. When Bill growled at the comment Martin spun and cuffed the man to the ground. "Did you forget your own place in _your_ clan, Evans? Or how you came here?"

John risked a glance at Rodney, and even caught a quick raised eyebrow from Larrin.

"No," Bill replied as he held a paw to an ear. "Did you forget _yours_?" He flinched when Martin raised a hand, but the blow never came.

John had to fight to keep from sighing – God, he hated the clan crap. American politics were logical in comparison to the animal alpha shit the vargyrs ruled by. And his suspicion that this was a rogue House full of disgraced or exiled true born and cursed nudged closer to confirmation. Larrin was right – they sure as hell picked the wrong place to get stranded.

Martin literally smoothed his fur down and narrowed his eyes at Whiskey as she started to push herself up into a sitting position. She visibly cringed and wisely stayed put. He focused on John again. "Do you hold _any_ alliance, Exile?"

"No," John answered and tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice. He had no reason to lie about his own personal ties, but he did nod towards Rodney. "But he is my friend, under my protection." He met Bill's hostile gaze head on until the man lowered his eyes.

"And those two?" The contempt in his voice practically burned the night air as he ignored Larrin and Devin directly.

John could see and feel Larrin start to bristle at the snub and quickly jumped in. "Never seen 'em before. But they haven't done anything to us, except share a beer, so no harm done there." He emphasized that last part and was rewarded with a truly dazzling smile from Larrin. He shrugged one shoulder towards her like it was nothing. Had his family heard that comment…. Yeah, fraternizing with, let alone _defending_ a Traveler would have been a death sentence in his House. He suddenly blinked with that revelation and suppressed the urge to smirk at the knowledge of how much he'd turned aside from the old ways, at how, well, _human_ he had become. But his internal triumph was quashed a second later when Martin snorted.

"What I am about to offer does not apply to _their_ kind."

John couldn't stop from raising an eyebrow and thinking _here it comes_…. Larrin let out a derisive huff of breath and threw her hands up. She shook her head and settled her hands on her hips.

Martin spread his hands in supplication. The gesture did not go well with his current form. Instead of earnest he came across as, well, a weasel. "As an exile you understand fully how constrictive House and Clan Law is."

"Yeah," John replied. He immediately did not like where this was going.

"Every single bit of behavior is monitored, and the slightest offenses met with harsh punishment. Beatings, exiling, castration. Death. Live in accordance to your _true_ nature and pay the consequences." Martin cocked his head. "Am I right?"

Yup, he definitely did not like this direction, so he shrugged as non-committed as possible. "So, you've started your own House where you can live all happy and free and embrace your inner critter. I get it, now."

Martin narrowed his eyes at John's sarcasm and said rather tightly, "Please, I prefer the terms 'community' and 'spirit'."

It was Rodney who said what John was thinking. He stepped forward and gestured at the two vargyrs who Martin had knocked to the ground, and were still on the ground. "Sorry, but that, ah, still looks like the same old dominance, butt-sniffing House crap to me. If you're asking us to join your community, are we going to be treated with the same respect?" He let the question hang unanswered in silence for a moment. "Huh. Thought so. Well, I am so not interested."

John bit down on his lips to keep from grinning – the expression of utter contempt on Martin's face was actually rather entertaining. But when it settled on barely contained fury he lost his humor. He did manage to reply calmer than he felt, "I'm going to have to side with my friend on this one. You probably have a nice little … community here, but I left all the clan crap behind a long time ago. Sorry – going to have to decline what I suspect is an offer to join up. Besides, just found a place I really like. Kinda want to stay there." He shrugged with one shoulder.

Martin was quiet for a moment. "That's a shame."

Whiskey whined and squirmed like a drug addict jonesing for a hit. "Hunt. Let us hunt them. Pleeease." Bill even perked up at the suggestion.

_Oh, fuck_, John thought because from the expression that just crossed Martin's face, he was seriously considering her words. John heard both Rodney and Larrin shifting nervously behind him, but Devin didn't move. He lifted one eyebrow. "Hunt?"

"Oh, yes. That is the other option if you did not want to join our community. Did I forget to mention it?" Martin grinned, showing lots of small sharp white teeth.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, you did," Rodney replied, and he sounded pissed.

"Clan law exists for a reason," John said through his teeth. He couldn't believe how absolutely mad he was himself at the moment. "Are you so confident in your…." John couldn't hide his sneer. "…House that this kind of behavior would go unnoticed by the big wigs?"

"It has for … for some time now." Martin shrugged smugly. "Survive until sunrise, you are free to go. And…."

"All of us," John said, cutting the vargyr off.

"Excuse me?"

John could hear claws scraping on the roof above them, and he watched Bill take a half step away from his alpha, his fur starting to stand on end in anticipation. "All of us," John repeated. Devin finally got up from his perch and backed up to be by his sister's side, and Larrin was staring at John with something akin to surprise. "We all get the option, or did you just plan on killing them outright since they're now witnesses?" John said with a flick of his head to the left. When Martin's eyes narrowed John chuffed. "Yeah, thought so." John lowered his head, and his voice. "Deal extends to all of us." _Or I take you out now_, he thought and extended his claws. He despised the whole alpha thing, but if he had to….

For a moment the only sound to fill the night was a chorus of very soft growling from half a dozen throats, then Martin nodded. "Fine. Since I am a man of honor, as well as the sporting type, I'm willing to give you a fifteen minute head start. Now…." His teeth flashed in the moonlight. "Run."

-oOo-

"Ow ow ow ow ow," Rodney chanted with every pounding step, his untied boots flopping as they ran headlong down a street and his left ankle twanging from lack of proper support. His companions charged along on bare feet without any apparent problems, but he – _he_ needed to tie his damn shoes, for crap's sake, or else he was going to seriously injure something.

"Oh, sack up, pussy," Larrin said from his right.

"He's the pussy, I'm the, the, the … ursi," Rodney snapped back between gasps.

From the rear of the group Devin snorted in actual amusement.

"Both of you, zip it!" John hissed. He was in the lead by half a dozen strides, his head constantly swinging back and forth as he scanned the darkened streets and homes they passed. Suddenly he stopped and Rodney barreled into him.

For a wiry guy, it was like running into a fur covered brick wall, and Rodney had no idea how they both managed to stay upright.

"Tie your shoes," John said as soon as he untangled himself, and Rodney immediately dropped down to a knee to do just that. John had his head up as he sniffed at the air. "I have an idea."

Hiking boots laced in record time, Rodney popped back up to his feet. "I hope it's better than running down the middle of the damn str…." He was grabbed and shoved forward. A moment later they were charging their way down a narrow and very dark alley that cut through the middle of a residential block. "Oh, this is such an improvement," he grumbled as best as he could.

"Do you ever quit bitching?" Larrin asked.

Rodney glanced at her bouncing along in relative silence and wondered how she wasn't injuring something herself. "No." He focused on the uneven ground and concentrated on not tripping and breaking his neck. "It helps me think."

"Wow, you think a lot."

"You're saving her why?" Rodney shot at John's back.

They darted left down another paved street and then were back in another narrow alley. Rodney suddenly sneezed, and while he was wondering how in the hell a person running for their life and gasping for breath could honestly have time to sneeze his inner scientist recognized the odor.

Turpentine.

The air was heavy with the scent of it, and as they ran down the alley Rodney was certain he could even taste it. They paused briefly at the end and caught their breath as they surveyed the back storage lot of the lumber mill and the pile upon pile of stacked logs ready for processing. But there was at least a half a block of wide open, weed filled space between them and it.

"Clever," Larrin said. "Gonna have a bitch of a time following our scents through there."

"That's what I thought," John said.

"Hide in there? Until dawn?" Rodney squeaked out.

"We just need to throw them off, get into the woods."

"Or hotwire a truck and vamoose," Larrin added.

"Or that," John said with a smug cat grin.

"Okay, for argument's sake, let's say we do make it until dawn – what makes you so sure Dudley Do Wrong of the Furry Patrol is really going to keep his word and let us just walk away?" Rodney asked.

John turned his head and looked at Rodney. "He will."

"It's one of those lame-ass alpha honor hang-ups," Larrin said. She shrugged a shoulder at John apologetically.

He shrugged back. "Exactly. It's almost worse to lose face than to lose your throat…."

A howl split the night.

"Hey! It hasn't even been ten minutes!" Rodney blurted out. "They're cheating!" Then he was being shoved forward again.

"Go!" John hissed. "I have the six."

"Now wait one…." Rodney's protest was cut short as a very hot hand wrapped around his left bicep and he was practically yanked off his feet as Devin pulled him along. A smaller, cooler hand clamped around his right wrist and he found himself being dragged along at break neck speed across the vacant lot by the demonic siblings. "Hey, not a pull toy here!" He was ignored as they cleared the lot in record time, and before they darted around the first pile of logs he was able to glance back.

John was nowhere in sight.

-oOo-

Halfway back down the alley John ducked into the shadows formed between someone's garage and their tall fence and crouched down low. They were constantly giving him crap about all the black he wore, but right now, with it combined with his black fur, he all but disappeared. He'd caught movement at the head of the alley, and a second later Whiskey came into view, head swiveling as she tested the air. Yeah, didn't really surprise him she was the one to jump the gun – she was practically drooling back at the motel with the need to hunt. He adjusted his feet, his claws digging in for purchase, and the second she was within range he leapt. He came down on her, his fist connecting with her jaw before the rest of him did, and her head bounced off the hard packed dirt of the alley. He stayed crouched over her body for a moment as he watched the end of the alley for any movement, then quickly dragged her back to his hiding place. He shredded the sleeves to her shirt with his claws and used them to bind her hands and feet, and as a precaution tore another chunk out of the back and shoved it in her mouth.

Not that they'd have any problem finding her if they wanted – all they needed to do was follow the miasmic cloud of Canadian Mist she left behind.

He watched the alley again for a few seconds, then quickly went back the way he'd come, a fluid shadow in the still night. He dashed across the vacant lot, and for that brief amount of time felt more exposed that he did the night he ran for his life on Atlantis wearing nothing but his fur and blood. Then he was ducking behind a pile of logs. He spun and watched, but nothing moved.

John glanced at his watch – not quite four hours to sunrise. Okay, they could do this. Martin seemed pretty damn confident, but then this was probably the first time he'd chased prey that had been in Black Ops for three years. The bastard had no idea what he was up against.

The scent of pitch and turpentine was so strong in the air it was actually making his nose run. He studied the ground and it wasn't too difficult to make out Rodney's boot marks in the blow dirt and sawdust. Crap. That could be a problem. He found a branch still attached to one of the logs – it wasn't very big and the dried out needles cascaded from it as he pulled it free – but it was enough to scuff out the more obvious foot prints. He could barely make out Larrin and Devin's tracks, and when he'd cleared a good hundred feet he tossed the branch away and went in search of his fellow prey.

-oOo-

The ground passed by underneath and Rodney would have yelled if he'd had the breath to do it – he was flopped over Devin's shoulder like so much wet laundry and the demon spawn was leaping from log pile to log pile like he thought he was Spider-Man. They landed hard after a dizzying second and Rodney was surprised he did have enough air to let out a tiny grunt. He was seriously starting to have flashbacks to a Thanksgiving when he was four. His Uncle Bernard, whose idea of high comedy was flopping his nephew over a shoulder, spinning around a dozen times, then setting the kid down to stumble around like a drunk, had ambushed him that year after dinner, a dinner with Gramma's not so successful attempt at oyster stuffing, and he, who wasn't feeling all that well from said attempt anyway, power vomited down Bernard's back, and also in a wide arc around the living room.

There wasn't any spinning involved right now, but the fear induced nausea was similar, and one more leap was going to make him hurl.

Thankfully Kangaroo Jack didn't launch into space again, but instead Rodney found himself being dumped none too gently onto the top of a stack of logs. The pile was swaybacked and made a perfect hiding place for the moment, and while Rodney just laid there and gasped for air – really, a compressed diaphragm on top of seat belt bites after running for his life was so not conducive to, well, breathing – Devin crouched low and peered over the higher logs back towards town. They had barely entered the mill's storage lot when the Demonic Duo decided he was leaving too much evidence behind, hence the hundred meter scientist carry and long jump routine from stack to stack.

Rodney was finally getting enough oxygen to vanquish the little sparklies that threatened his vision, and he struggled to get rolled over and his hand and knees under him. "Do … you … see them?" he managed to gasp out.

"No."

The panic ratcheted up a notch and he started to get up to look over the logs himself. "How're they … gonna find …." Rodney found himself shoved back down onto his stomach, hard. "Ow!"

"Shh!"

Rodney glared up at Devin and found the young man meeting his gaze and went from wheezing to locked lungs in a nanosecond. The eyes he looked into weren't smooth – they were faceted and reminded him of hematite the way they reflected the moonlight with their dark metallic glint. Then he breathed and wasn't aware he whimpered.

"Sis knows where I am," Devin said happily. "Stay," he added, then leapt up and was gone.

"Wait!" Rodney blurted out, but it was too late. He was alone. He crawled carefully up to the higher layer of logs and cautiously peered over the edge. Absolutely nothing moved in his field of vision. "Oh, crap," he groaned out as he ducked back down. "Stay. Yeah, right." He glanced around nervously. "But do they know where I am?" he asked out loud. "Crap crap crap crap crap."

Rodney waited until his breathing was just down to a mere panicky pace before he peeked up over the top again. Still nothing. He glanced back towards the mill and saw his position wasn't too far from the more civilized stacks of finished boards and pallets and fence posts ready for shipping. "Stay," he repeated and set his mouth in a crooked grimace. He carefully got to his hands and knees are started crawling towards the end of the log pile, cursing quietly every time he encountered a sharp broken branch end with a knee or sticking his hand in pine pitch. When he got to the end, he looked over and groaned. It had to be ten meters to the ground. Okay, not ten, but it sure looked like it. The logs stuck out at all levels and would make an easy climb down. Rodney turned around and back over the edge, butt out, until he could get his feet settled on easy footholds. "Just like a ladder," he muttered as he started down, then hissed when he found a particularly large glob of pitch. "A really sticky ladder," he added as he shook his hand to no avail. When he got to the ground he'd just head for the mill – that was the plan anyway. Just find a nice cozy hiding place and keep an eye out for the rest.

And hope there aren't any security guards.

Rodney froze, poised halfway to the ground, and glanced towards the mill. The brightly lit up mill. "I, I, I could just wait a few," he muttered to himself. "Good look out position, no one would expect me to be up here, I'll see them before they'd ever spot me. Yeah, that'd work."

He crawled back up.

-oOo-

John lost the tracks he was following barely three rows in and started to panic. He stopped dead in his own tracks and tried desperately to catch any kind of scent in the sharp air. A moment later he saw a pale hand waving at him from behind a stack, and when he dashed over he found Larrin hiding behind the pile of logs. "Where the hell is Rodney?" he snapped.

"Chill, fuzzy," Larrin hissed back. "He was being too obvious – Devin took him somewhere safe for the moment."

She turned away from him but John reached out and caught her arm. "How do you know?" Not that he didn't trust the crazy bastard, but … no, he didn't trust the crazy bastard. Period. Ally or not, there was something about the kid that just wasn't right, and with the knack Rodney had for rubbing people the wrong way…. Yeah, concern for his friend didn't quite cover what he was feeling at the moment. Pure blind, scrotum shriveling panic was more like it.

Larrin glanced back over her shoulder, and in the bright moonlight her eyes were black and faceted like an insect's. John drew back a fraction. She smirked at him and tapped her temple. "I can hear baby bro fine." She pulled her arm free and started trotting backwards. "So, come on – shake that nice ass of yours." She turned and jogged off.

John scowled at her and followed.

They took advantage of the maze of stacks and darkness – this section of the yard didn't have lights, but from what they could see ahead there would be once they got closer to the mill and the more evenly stacked finished products. For now they snaked through the shadows, the smell of pitch and fresh cut timber masking them. They were starting to hear the occasional howl or yelp or bellow now from back towards town as their pursuers got into their little game, but they kept their pace steady.

"Confident assholes," Larrin muttered as they crouched in the last decent shadow and surveyed the lighted yard ahead.

John chuffed. "Just assholes," he growled. "Wonder what the normals think of Martin's little domain."

"Probably too fucking scared to do anything, keep their heads down or get hunted, too," Larrin replied disgustedly. "And they despise _us_." She let out a snort that would have made Rodney jealous. Or flinch, one of the two.

John just grunted in reply. He studied the way ahead silently for a few more seconds, then nodded towards some plastic wrapped stacks of plywood. "Less light in that section. I'll go first."

Larrin gave him a jaunty salute. "Aye aye, sir."

John rolled his eyes and darted out. He was halfway to his goal when he heard Larrin shout, "Duck!" But before he could even react it felt like a giant hand came down and smacked him flat to the ground. He barely turned his head in time to keep from getting a nose full of dirt and losing his front teeth, and his breath whooshed out hard enough to raise a tiny dust cloud. In that silent few second stretch that always feels like minutes where his diaphragm absolutely positively refused to obey his brain John heard something whistle overhead. Two meaty thwacks followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground filled the rest of the gap before his first strangled in breath. Then a hand wrapped in the fur at the base of his neck and Larrin was trying to lift him by his scruff. And succeeding. And since the skin didn't have the give like it did when he was five – holy crap did it hurt. He barely got a second breath in before he was yanked forward. John glanced to the side and saw the werecougar from earlier laying sprawled in the dirt, and he wasn't sure but it looked like the vargyr's skull was pulped.

"I told you to duck!" Larrin said angrily as she dragged him behind the stack of plywood.

"Didn't … give me … time!" John still wasn't breathing all that smoothly, and he was pretty much running on all fours. It was awkward but doable thanks to his vargyr anatomy.

"Not my fault you have shitty reflexes!"

John finally got in enough of a breath to growl. He shoved away from the ground with his arms and it knocked Larrin's painful grip free. Now that he was on his feet he risked another glance back and saw some shadows following. "Shit! Got company."

"I know, I sense them. This way!" She darted to the left. John followed right on her heels. They zigged and zagged amongst the stacks until a handful of turns later found them stuck in a dead end cul-de-sac of sharpened fence posts a dozen feet high.

"Dammit!" John scanned the pointy walls around them. He could probably jump up, no problem, but she'd have to climb. Well, maybe he could just _toss_ her up…. He couldn't help it – the mental image of her sailing through the air, cussing, made him grin briefly. But the sound of growling laughter and excited yips from behind wiped it from his face a second later. He spun and saw Martin, Bill, and some other shifters he hadn't seen before filling the entrance to their trap. John crouched, claws fully extended and fur bristling. "Stay behind me," he growled, the words barely recognizable. He might have a chance to get into a berserker state before they attacked and started to hyperventilate to get the blood oxygenated for the first step. Then he caught a flash of pale movement to his left, and when he turned his head found Larrin standing right next to him and his panting stopped dead.

She was smiling.

-oOo-

Rodney did good until he heard the howling. And then he panicked. He crawled down from his hidey hole in record time and started heading towards the mill. He found a good heavy branch a little bit longer than a baseball bat and had it clenched in a killer two-handed grip. He kept to the shadows as best he could, impromptu weapon raised, but James Bond he wasn't, and a running whispered monologue wasn't helping the stealth factor any. "I am never going camping again. Ever! Yogi can just get the hell used to being trapped in this pasty-assed, caffeine swilling, sleep deprived geek body for the rest of eternity! Screw him! No more great outdoors and banjo playing shape-shifting rednecks hunting us down in the woods like, like, like … something!" He glanced around the edge of a stack then shot across the gap to the next. "Okay, okay – so they're not playing banjos. Or in the woods. But I can probably bet they're one step away from yelling, 'Bend over and squeal like a pig, boy'. Crap crap crap crap crap. Sheppard, if I make it out of this alive, I am so killing you!"

He was to the pallets of two-by-fours when they caught up to him.

Rodney put his back to the plastic wrapped wood and swallowed. There were five of them forming a semi-circle around him – two true born wolves and three humans. This was the first time he'd seen a werewolf, and a strange little part of him was oddly disappointed that they didn't look anything like the rampaging muscle-bound snarling destruction machines from those movies with the hot vampire chick in the leather body suit. If anything, they looked kinda like something from SyFy Saturdays, only less cheesy. Their teeth and claws, however, looked anything but cheesy. They looked sharp – very very sharp. "Say, um, I think you better know that killing me would be a, ah, horrifically bad idea," Rodney squeaked out. "We're talking international incident causing bad idea, here." He held the branch straight out and didn't really give a damn it was shaking in his grip.

One of the humans sneered and spat. "Fucking pussy," he said.

"No, so not a pussy," Rodney muttered. There was a spark of anger starting to grow and drown out some of the fear, and he honestly couldn't tell if it was from him or Yogi. The branch quit shaking. "You think I'm joking? You kill me or my friend and there will be so many military and SGC personnel swarming this place you'll think you've been teleported to a very wet and green Iraq!"

"You liar," one of the wolves growled. "To think Martin offered a place with us to a lying coward like you." He stepped forward.

Rodney was about to take his chances and dart to the side when something dropped down out of the sky between him and the advancing wolf and landed on the ground hard enough he felt the shock through his feet. He stared at the figure crouched in the dirt, blinked, and blinked again. It had black metallic skin – no, an exoskeleton, actually – that had both smooth reflective sections and corrugated ridges. Four spikes rose up from its back and the tattered remains of a t-shirt fluttered from them, and a long serrated tail poked from a torn hole in the back of a pair of faded jeans. It lashed back and forth like an angry cat's, kicking up more dust. The head was about half the length of the celluloid monster's, but the shape was unmistakable….

"You have got to be kidding me," Rodney said as he stared at an Alien. A. Freaking. _Alien_.

The tail suddenly stopped whipping around and pointed right at him. "I told you to stay put," Devin hissed without looking back. Metallic claws flashed in the moonlight and he attacked.

One of the humans charged Rodney with the speed only a cursed vargyr could possess, and for a split second the weirdest thing happened – Rodney didn't see a stocky guy in a Blue Jays t-shirt with a big hunting knife charging him but a stocky guy in leather and chain mail holding a round shield and a long broad bladed sword. Something inside of Rodney's head seemed to just click, and the long weight in his hands felt as natural as could be as stepped forward to meet the man, batted the knife aside, used the momentum to pivot gracefully, and swing the branch with all his strength right into the back of the vargyr's head. The crunch snapped him out of his vision in time for him to see the man hit the wrapped pallet and leave a red smear as he bounced off and fell boneless to the ground. Rodney dropped the branch and held his hands over his mouth while Yogi roared in triumph in his head. Then the smell of blood and other nasty things temporarily overpowered the turpentine in the air and he staggered forward a few steps before dropping to his hands and knees and puked.

Rodney didn't really notice there were some awful sounds going on around him until they stopped, and then he made the mistake of glancing around. Devin had been busy. And very messy. He was puking again in short order. When he was scooped up a minute later like the sack of wet suet he felt like and their leaping journey across the lumber yard commenced, he didn't care all that much. At least this time he wasn't draped over a shoulder and watching the ground yo-yoing by.

But staring up into that gore smeared toothy face was infinitely worse.

-oOo-

"Well, hello boys," Larrin purred. Her smile didn't falter one millimeter.

John stared at her. Her skin had gone pearlescent in the moonlight, and he could even see fine scales around her eyes, along her jaw line, and running down her throat and disappearing into the torn scooped neckline of her t-shirt. He couldn't feel any worry coming off of her at all – in fact, she seemed really really happy. And that was scaring the shit out of him. He looked back to their pursuers and saw the way out completely blocked.

Martin grinned back at them. "Vargyrs are so predictable. This is the first place they always come – they're so certain the stink will mask their scent. It does, so we play cat and mouse for awhile. But look at you two." He raised he hands at that stacks of sharpened fence posts surrounding then on three sides. "Put yourself smack dab into a trap. And so quickly." He shook his head sadly. "Wasted your head start and ruined our sport."

"You arrogant bastard," Larrin said. She put her hands on her hips and arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure _we're_ the ones who are trapped?"

Martin blinked at her, then he and several of his men started laughing.

John felt the air begin to hum, the minute vibrations first felt in his sensitive whiskers, then along his raised fur, then finally along his skin. It was uncomfortable, like standing too close to the force field in that damn cell he was stuck in back in the basement in Atlantis. The others must not have been able to feel it yet where they stood – they were still laughing. When he heard several snaps then wood rattling behind him the laughter stopped. He glanced over his shoulder to see the first three rows of fence posts rise into the air. They quivered in place, and the hum in the air grew heavier. He faced forward and this time couldn't stop his own smile from forming. Their pursuers had fallen silent, and he could see the whites of several sets of eyes. "Yeah," he drawled out. "What was that about being trapped?"

Martin was in a semi-crouch, fur bristling with barely controlled fury. "Kill that fucking abomination!" he bellowed.

Bill roared and was the first to surge forward. He dropped down onto all fours and was closely followed by another true born bear and a human.

"Idiots," Larrin said and casually flicked a hand their way.

John kept the urge to duck down to a mere flinch as a half dozen fence posts shot overhead and met the oncoming charge. And stopped it. Messily. Four posts hit Bill alone, and his practically dismembered body was flung from the impact almost all the way back to Martin's feet.

"I have enough for everyone," Larrin said huskily.

John looked at her – he was close enough he could hear a hint of shake in her voice. Sweat was starting to bead on her face and neck and he heard a few fence posts clatter back into place behind them. "You able to do that again?" he whispered as he smelled the strain rolling off of her.

"Yeah. Barely," she whispered back. A few more posts clattered. "But don't worry – backup is here."

John sensed the whirling mass of insanity a second later coming up fast on his right, and from above for some weird reason. Then Rodney was dropped unceremoniously at his feet as Devin landed in front of them. John's mouth dropped open as the half-demon turned around and settled down onto his haunches between them and Martin's crew, his tail switching angrily back and forth. "Is that … a …."

"Alien?" Larrin said as she stepped up next to her brother and patted his head affectionately. "Yes. His form was in flux until he saw that movie, and he fell in love."

"Holy shit," John muttered, and part of him had to admit – that was pretty fucking cool. Then a pained groan from Rodney snapped him out of the moment and he was helping his friend to his feet. And grew alarmed at the splattered blood across his friend's arms and face. "Shit! Are you hurt?" he asked as he frantically started checking him for injuries.

Rodney pushed him away. "I'm fine," he replied weakly. "Not mine." Then he took in Larrin's changed appearance, the dozen floating posts behind them, the skewered bodies and hunting party in front them, and just kind of slumped in place. "Great. Just … just great. Please tell me why we went camping?"

John chuffed.

Martin and the others hadn't moved, but then the self proclaimed alpha just went berserk. "Kill them! Kill them all!" he screamed. But no one followed his order. He turned on his House and found them all fidgeting. "You fucking cowards!" A handful of wolves rallied and started to stalk forward cautiously, claws and teeth bared, fur bristling. It only took one well placed post in the leader to halt that advance. Martin roared.

John stepped forward. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he said as he flexed his claws. Just in his peripheral he saw Larrin sway a bit and heard the last of the fence posts drop back into place behind him. "Let us leave."

Martin stalked forward a few steps, head down, teeth bared. "Never."

"Fucking alpha bullshit," John growled under his breath. He glanced quickly at Larrin and Devin. "He's mine."

Larrin nodded. "Understood." Devin's shoulders slumped in an almost Rodney-like manner.

Speaking of which…. He glanced at Rodney and saw his friend rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

"Yeah, yeah, I know – alpha crap," Rodney sighed. "Just, just kick his fucking ass."

John nodded, then faced Martin. His challenge roar echoed in the night.

-oOo-

Rodney jumped as if he'd been goosed by a cattle prod. Even Yogi flinched so hard it made his skin itch like fur was about to pop out. The logical, civilized part of him wanted to just cover his eyes as the two vargyrs charged at each other and met in a blur of teeth and claws, but his new inner animal was jumping up and down, whooping and hollering, and if it had had a pair of pompoms would have been shaking them about like a muppet on crack. Even to his nerdy, pacifist, lab rat's eye he could tell right away Sheppard had the upper hand. He came in low and so fast Rodney could barely track his attacks, but it was clear that Martin could only land one hit in three. Nearly every one of his friend's shots landed. Blood flew, most of it Martin's.

"Whoa," Larrin said softly. "Your friend a ninja?"

Rodney shook his head slowly. "No. At least I don't think so. But he was Black Ops."

Larrin pulled her eyes away from the fight and stared at Rodney, eyebrows raised. "Really?"

Rodney nodded, his own eyes wide and glued to the unfolding carnage.

"Remind me not to piss him off," Devin grated out, his voice a nightmare inducing basso rasp.

"Deal."

Martin's followers watched the fight in utterly still silence.

Sheppard caught one of Martin's swings and with an innocuous little hip swivel sent the man flying towards one of the stacks of finished fence posts forming the walls of their little cul de sac of horror. Unfortunately, the non-pointy ends faced them, and Martin flipped in midair, landed on the tightly packed posts on all fours, stuck for a second like a giant furry mutant fly, and launched back at John. The two met in a loud impact and went rolling across the ground, sawdust and regular dust flying.

Rodney cringed, and for the few seconds he couldn't tell what was going on he felt a panic attack start. Then the dust settled enough he could tell Sheppard was sitting on top of Martin and just pounding the ever loving shit out of the weasel. He flinched with every meaty thwack, and just when he thought he was going to get ill again, it was over. Sheppard stood over the fallen alpha and glared at the assembled vargyrs and cursed weres.

The fight was one of the most brutal, vicious things he'd ever witnessed – well, within the last year, no, nine months maybe, because let's face it, he thought, things hadn't been very normal since that whole Kolya thing last Fall, and he didn't watch what the junior Alien did to the werewolves earlier, he just saw the gruesome aftermath – and it took his rattled brain a moment to realize the entire thing happened in probably a minute, maybe less….

He came dangerously close to puking again.

-oOo-

John could feel blood running down his forearms despite his fur, the dozens of deep scratches the price he paid for blocking Martin's blows, and could actually hear it pattering onto the dusty ground over the sound of his own panting. He had to take a moment to calm down – he had nearly achieved the berserker state, which helped him get the bullshit over as quickly as possible, and his senses were still dialed up to eleven. He watched Martin's little House closely for any new challengers as his pulse slowed – with Bill dead he doubted anyone would be psychotic enough to try, but he didn't want to take any chances. His gaze was met at first, but in a short time every single one of them had lowered their heads, then eventually they went to their knees, their heads tilted to one side as they offered their throats to their new alpha.

It took every ounce of control to keep from screaming. God, he hated this shit.

A face in the front of the group caught his attention – it was one of the men Bill was talking to outside of the hardware/parts store. "You!" he snapped. They all flinched, and since he had to wait for everyone to look at him, he pointed at the man. "Yeah, you. You own the parts store?"

The jowly man shook his head. "No, I just work there."

John could hear footsteps approaching from behind, and he glanced back briefly at his friends. "You have their part?" he asked with a head jerk towards Larrin.

"Yuh, yes." His gaze darted back and forth from John to Larrin. "We always had it."

"What?" Larrin said. "You, you bastards had it all along?" She let out a strangled growl and the air vibrated as a half dozen fist sized rocks floated up from the ground. "You kept us here, deliberately?" The rocks began to shake. "I'm gonna pulp your fucking skull!"

"No."

Larrin glared at John, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "You dare order _me_?"

"Not an order," John said quietly. "A request."

A tense silence drew out between them, then Larrin let out a frustrated scream and sent the rocks hurtling over the heads of the kneeling vargyrs. A second later Devin's tail lashed out and laid open the man's cheek. She looked down at her brother. "Thank you."

John closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten. When he fixed his gaze on the man again he met eyes even wider with fear and spoke through gritted teeth. "You are going to go get that part and bring it to the motel, and help these people install it. And you are _not_ going to charge them for it. Understand?" He got a spastic nod. When the man just sat there, he bellowed, "NOW!" The fat guy shot to his feet and ran, hand to his face.

"Ooo, I like it when you get all growly," Larrin purred.

"Not now," John replied tiredly. He felt Rodney step up next to him.

"So, what are you going to do with all of them?" he asked as he grimaced at their former pursuers.

John went to pinch the bridge of his nose, saw how gory his fingers and claws were, fought the second urge to run his hand over the top of his head, then just let his arm dangle awkwardly at his side. Tired was hitting like a sledgehammer now after no sleep and the whole adrenaline fueled last hour. He opened his mouth to reply when the sound of an engine hit his sensitive ears. A moment later everyone else caught it as something big was coming through the lumber yard. He met Rodney's wide eyes.

"Oh, great. Now what?" Rodney whined.

People were getting to their feet, uncertainty etched in their faces. A Navigator barreled around one of the stacks, brights and fog lights on, and slid to a halt not even thirty feet from the back of the crowd of vargyrs, sending up a cloud of dust. The doors were flung open even as it was still rocking on its suspension and two figures whipped out and stood silhouetted in the glare. Everyone went on alert.

Except for John.

Just before the vehicle appeared he felt a familiar tingle in the back of his mind. He glanced at Larrin and Devin – they were both ready to attack – and waved them down. "Relax," he said, and stepped forward away from Martin's sprawled body. He lifted his chin towards the newcomers. "You're early," he called out.

The shorter of the two silhouettes stepped forward, and the twin short swords in her grip glinted in the headlights. "I made Ronon leave early," Teyla replied. And along their shared link sent, _I had a premonition that you two were in danger before Elizabeth told us about the accident. I felt it prudent we come at once and not wait for morning._

John grinned. _Thanks,_ he sent back. _Glad ya did._

Ronon stepped forward as well. The big guy was holding a Desert Eagle in his grip, and the gun actually looked small in his hands. He moved in a controlled martial arts glide that made him look dangerous as hell, and John often wondered if he had military training in the past. Ronon insisted he didn't but John wasn't so sure. "Good thing we did," Ronon rumbled out. "This party looks like it blows." He kept advancing and people were moving out of his way. Then he spotted Devin. The gun leveled at him. "What the fuck?"

"Cool it, Shrek," Rodney said. "He's on our side."

Devin's tail switched and Larrin let out a snicker. "Oh, that is so perfect," she said. She looked at John. "You keep odd company, fuzzy."

"Yeah, tell me about it. But wouldn't have it any other way." He took in the, oh, roughly two dozen unwanted new followers he just inherited by right of combat, took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in an exasperated blast. "All right – listen up!" he bellowed. People jumped. "As of tonight, this little game of yours is over. Done. No more. Got it?" He waited for nods before continuing. "And if I so much as hear about a missing person within one hundred miles of this town, I will come down on your asses like Arma-fucking-geddon." His voice had risen and he could feel the veins standing out on his neck and forehead under his fur. "Understand?" The nods were much more enthusiastic. "Good. Now get the hell out of my sight!"

They didn't really scramble, but they did shuffle off into the shadows rather quickly.

Larrin sighed. "Yeah, that worked for me," she said under her breath and fanned herself.

Teyla came over to John, her attention however on the Travelers and her Bantos swords still unsheathed. "Is everything all right?" she asked John.

"Now it is," he replied.

Larrin stepped forward and offered her hand. "Hi! Larrin Ryder. And this is my brother, Devin." Devin straightened up for the first time from his crouch, and in his changed form actually looked down on Ronon. "We've never met one of the High Fae before," she said with a big friendly grin.

Teyla eyed the offered hand more warily than the towering demon spawn. Then she gracefully sheathed the swords behind her shoulders and shook Larrin's hand. "If you are a friend of John's, then you are a friend of mine," she said between her teeth. She shot John a vaguely worried look.

"She is," John replied. "They both helped us a lot tonight – couldn't have survived without them." Then John turned to his new allies, and friends, and lowered his head briefly to them. "Thank you. Both of you." He couldn't hide his grin at the brief shocked expression that crossed Larrin's face, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the thanks or the fact she was shaking hands with a Fae that wasn't trying to gut her. And from the buzz he felt coming off of Teyla, he suspected that she was still considering it.

Ronon still had his gun out, but it was pointing down by his side. "Bet this is a helluva story."

Rodney snorted. A groan from the ground made him let out a startled yelp and he jumped to the side. He was still by Martin, and he looked down at the fallen alpha. "Holy shit! You're still alive?"

John came over and knelt down next to the constable, his arms resting on his raised knees. "Good. You heard my earlier order, I take it."

Martin nodded weakly. He started to speak, grimaced, then got the words out. "Kill me," he barely whispered.

John leaned in closer. "Oh, hell no. You get to stay alive. Your little House is done, Martin. I'm disbanding it. From now on all of you here will live in accordance to the Laws of Neutrality that apply to this area. Which is how it should have been." John normally couldn't stand the Clan Laws, but this was the only one that was a good one. "I'm sure you don't want this whole little incident brought to anyone's attention, do you?" He waited a beat for a reply, then got a faint head shake. "Good. Now, I think it's only fitting that once you heal up, you concentrate on becoming a community leader here, for both vargyrs and humans alike. Bridge the gap that has no doubt been opened up by your little 'game'. Don't make me come back here, understand?"

"You're not staying?"

"No." John stood up. "I have a home. And speaking of which…." He looked around him, at Rodney's tired, bedraggled face, at Ronon's smirk, and Teyla's faint smile. He even took in Larrin's smug little defiant grin and her brother's, well, overly toothy one. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

-oOo-

The sun was just beginning to brighten the eastern sky and John was sitting in one of the green patio chairs again, partially wrapped in a blanket, while Larrin and Teyla, one on each arm, were finishing wrapping them up in gauze. After a very painful shift to human and shower, they had insisted on butter-flying the worst of the scratches until he got back home and could get stitches. Oh, Carson was going to chew his ass, he just knew it. He hurt everywhere, one eye was swollen shut now, there were new bruises on top of the seat belt bites, and he wanted nothing more than to just curl up and go to sleep.

When they got back to the motel they found the parts guy there, panting like a bellows, with the oxygen sensor for Larrin's Subaru. Devin had shifted back to normal, though his skin still had a faint metallic cast, took the box from the guy, and set to work on it by himself. He had it replaced in no time. John took advantage of his new but temporary alpha status and had parts guy get the owner of the laundry to open up for them so they could get some clothes washed before they headed home. He could see Rodney through the windows getting their fresh change of clothes out of the dryer now. One handed, of course – he had a death grip on a giant cup of coffee.

Larrin stood up and brushed off the knees of her jeans – everyone had showered and changed after their wild night. "There – that'll hold until you get home. No gymnastics, now. But if you want to try before we all head out…."

Teyla's eyes narrowed faintly as she helped John get the blanket settled up around his shoulders.

John let out a short bark of a laugh, then grimaced. "You don't give up, do you?"

"Nope." Then she winked at Teyla. "Can't blame a girl for trying. Rowr."

John carefully sucked in his lips at the short burst of irritation he felt roll off of Teyla. He cleared his throat. "So, where are you two heading after this?"

"We were on our way to Vancouver before all this happy horse hockey hit the fan. We have some work lined up there. Temporary, of course."

"Of course." John shifted in the chair and saw Ronon was just finishing tying down the gear that didn't fit in the back of the Navigator onto its roof rack. "We'll follow you out, make sure nothing happens."

"Why, thank you," Larrin replied with a genuinely happy smile. "And we'll watch for bears." She nodded to Teyla. "It was so nice to meet you."

John wasn't exactly sure how she managed to convey a crap load of innuendo into that innocuous little statement, but she did.

"Likewise," Teyla replied curtly.

"See you around, fuzzy," Larrin said and sauntered off. Rodney was just coming back from the Laundromat, and she waggled her fingers at him. "Bye, Rodney. Watch your head."

Rodney paused for a second. "Huh? Oh, yeah yeah yeah. Funny. Goodbye." He stomped up onto the low porch, folded clothes in his arms against his chest, and a cup of coffee in each hand. He awkwardly handed one to John. "I'll change first, leave yours on the bed." Then he just tromped on into the room and shut the door.

John took a hesitant sip, and was relieved it was just plain black coffee. He sighed contentedly.

"I do not trust them," Teyla said.

When John looked up he found her watching Larrin talking to Ronon. Well, looked more like flirting, actually, from the way the big guy was grinning. "She's all right," he said. "Kinda iffy on the brother, but he did keep Rodney safe."

Teyla focused on him. "But they are Travelers."

"I know." John shrugged one shoulder. "And I'm an Onca. Not all books match their covers."

Teyla considered that for a moment, then nodded to herself. "True." She smiled down at him. "I will take your word for it, my prince."

"I am not…."

"Ah, so much better!" Rodney proclaimed as he came out of the motel room. "Next." He stopped practically right between John and Teyla, completely oblivious to the slightly awkward moment his two friends were having.

John slowly got up. "Yeah. Then home." It took him a lot longer to get dressed than it did Rodney, but he managed and when he left the room, coffee in one hand, the duffle holding their dirty clothes in another, he came up blocked by a wall of backs. Rodney, Teyla, Ronon, Larrin, Devin – all of them stood there at the edge of the porch, arms crossed. Larrin glanced over her shoulder, then stepped aside to open a gap.

Martin was standing in the parking lot.

John stepped off the low porch and faced the man. He hadn't cleaned up yet, and his face was a purple mess, his clothes torn and bloody. "You have somebody that can help you?"

"When I get home, yes."

"Good." John noticed the owner of the laundry was standing in the rear parking lot watching. "You. Come here." The woman started, then rushed over. Rodney had told him he could tell she was a bear when she first opened up the door for him, and from her scent he could tell she was true born. "You're going to be my witness, okay?" He got nervous nod in return. "Constable Martin, I am going to forgive you for the gross transgression of the Laws of Neutrality that you allowed to happen here in Briscoe. I'm going to spare your life, simply because you are an officer of the laws of Canada and hopefully know better." He paused for a moment. "You do know better, don't you?"

Martin lowered his head and nodded.

John chuffed. He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Keep in mind our little conversation from earlier. There is no House here, unless you really want the Clans to come down on your asses. And don't drag my name into this – I defeated you, yes, but I did not Declare." He knew Martin understood his words – the vargyr was so hung up on honor, he knew John did not formally declare himself at the alpha after the fight and complete the normal ritual, and his own position as such was pretty much done. "You're all going to be good little boys and girls from here on out. Remember, this is neutral territory. Get along, and not because you're hunting innocent people. Make things _right_." He let his eyes slide briefly over to the woman, who looked both guilty and chagrined. "Do not make me come back here. Understood?"

"Yes."

John straightened up. "Make sure the rest know. Both of you." He got nods in reply. "Now, go home." He turned his back on them until he heard footsteps shuffle off. He took a sip of his cooling coffee and noticed Rodney frowning at him. "What?"

"I just can't believe you're letting them get away with all this," Rodney said.

John felt his stomach twist. Yeah, it did sit bad with him, but…. "It has to be this way, Rodney."

Rodney's hands came up and fluttered in frustration. "But…."

Teyla put a hand on his arm. "He is right, Rodney. To the greater world at large, what we are only exists in fables and works of fiction, and we have had laws in place for centuries to keep our true natures from discovery. Can you imagine what would happen if that was revealed?"

"Do rampaging mobs with pitchforks and torches mean anything to you?" Larrin said. "Burning at the stake? The Inquisition?"

"Our kind have been subjected to all sorts of atrocities in the past," Teyla continued. "But then, Pretenders have also committed atrocities as well. That is why it is best we police our own, live under the guidance of our own laws, and try to maintain invisibility."

"And those that do step out, usually get caught," John said. "Mercy is practically non-existent," he added softly.

"Okay, okay, I get it." Rodney growled in frustration. "But dammit, I want to officially add for the record, it sucks. Worse than a black hole."

"Yeah, it does, pal," John drawled. Then yawned. "And I say, if we're all packed, let's get the hell out of here."

"Yes!" Rodney said. "Shotgun!" He dashed over to the Navigator.

John chuckled. He looked at Larrin. "Lead on."

She looked him up and down slowly. "Gladly!" she replied with a big happy smile.

"Oh, for cryin' out…." John shook his head and stomped off.

Both vehicles were exceeding the speed limit as they left Briscoe. Ronon was driving, and Teyla shared the back seat with John. They passed the site of the rollover, small bits of safety glass glittering in their headlights, and he found himself scanning the woods to the side for a bear. All he saw was a blur of green, then he settled back and closed his eyes. Rodney was bitching about having survived roughing it in the great outdoors for a week only to run into demon spawn and be hunted down by a bunch of inbred redneck were-whatevers. When Ronon asked him if they had banjos, Rodney practically had a cow.

John started to nod off with a smile on his face. Yeah, the last eighteen hours sucked, but the camping was fun. He made some new unexpected allies, and he was now heading home with, well, family. All in all, it was at least a happy ending, and with his life, it was more than welcome.

_End Note: Now, let's see if they caught the hint as to what Lorne has in his ancestry._


End file.
